


First Sight

by hlwim



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 14:37:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hlwim/pseuds/hlwim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Immediately after "The Crossroads of Destiny", Mai and Zuko see each other again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Sight

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a birthday gift for [Alabaster86](http://alabaster86.tumblr.com/).

**First Sight**  
She tugs again at the sleeves of her tunic—this Earth Kingdom cloth sits all wrong on her frame, making flat boxes of all her elegant lines and angles. The greaves were made for benders, split between the toes, and the belt is cinched too tight.

She wants her own clothes: her reds and blacks and hints of white, her curled-toe boots and fingerless gloves and knives and launchers. The collar's the right height at least, and her hair is back to what it should be. No gold sticks, no tiara slipping down her brow, no ghastly make-up, no weighty leather armor.

Ty Lee must notice the twitching—Mai feels little fingers slipping between her own, and she's worried suddenly of what Ty Lee might say. Two Dai Li agents guard the closed door, arms crossed. Azula hasn't sent for them yet.

But Ty Lee says nothing. Mai glances back to see a gentle smile, as Ty Lee squeezes her hand briefly and then lets go. When the doors open and the agents step back, Mai enters alone.

Everything about this palace is unsettling in familiarity—same walls, same tiles, same columns disappearing up into the overhanging darkness—except for the color, and the massive gold badger-mole statue leering down over the throne.

Mai stops short, halfway across the room, when she realizes that it's empty. No Azula, no guards—just dust and shadows gathering beneath the seat.

She lets anger travel no farther than her clenched fists.

“ _Pointless_ ,” Mai hisses. She's just turning to leave again when a fluttery movement catches her eye.

“Mai? I-is that you?”

She doesn't want to answer and, luckily, can't—her throat closes up, mouth dry, heart drumming. Zuko won't step out of the shadows in the corner, turned half away from her.

“Azula's not here,” he says haltingly, as she steps closer. “Had to check the battlements or something.”

He's gotten tall and is trying to hide it, hunching his shoulders, arms crossed over his middle like a shield.

“I didn't know she sent for you. I'm probably not supposed to be here. I mean, I should go.”

But he doesn't, no doubt stopped by the same question swirling through Mai's mind.

“They'll have to close the shop,” he says, very quietly. “Our apartment. Just empty now.”

He pulls at his sleeves—maybe these clothes itch him, too. She glances down at his feet, at slippers delicately embroidered with brown and green and gold. The seams are tight, pressed flat: the single luxury of a middle-class worker. The leather of his belt is smooth and unoiled, probably brand new, like everything else about them.

He still won't look at her.

“Guess I have nowhere to go.”

She's close enough to feel heat radiating off of him, to raise her hand and set one trembling finger on his chin, to turn his head and meet his eyes briefly, before he snaps them closed.

She's expecting him to snap or stop her, to grab her wrist and push her away, but he says nothing, does _nothing_ , just stands there, eyes pinched shut, mouth flat and thin, arms uncrossed now and hanging stiff from his rounded shoulders. He's trying to keep his breath steady, at least, and failing.

The rumors were constant and cruel after his banishment. Not scarred, but _disfigured_ , destroyed, distinguished only by the mark. The commoners weren't permitted to look upon any member of the royal family, even in exile, but everyone _knew_. At school, someone marked her pocket miniature of him with a splotch of red paint.

Her fingers touch first, and he flinches. He can't feel it, at least not as anything other than pressure, so Mai presses her whole hand down, forming to the contours of his cheek and jaw. The burn is longer than any of her fingers, but she leans forward, leans _up_ and almost has to laugh at that, and places a gentle kiss on the opposite cheek.

“I missed you,” she says, and when she looks again, he looks back and smiles.


End file.
